


Goodnight my Loves, says the Bat

by AmarieMelody



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Batfamily fanfic, Daddy!Bruce, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of child abuse & neglect (mostly w/Cass and Jason), SO MUCH HUMOR, daddy!Bats
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 18:07:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18238427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmarieMelody/pseuds/AmarieMelody
Summary: The various reasons Bruce's children choose to sleep in the bed with their father.Over the years, over the ages the reasons vary with each child...and Bruce has accommodated each & every one.Hurt/comfort, fluff, with dashes of humor.





	Goodnight my Loves, says the Bat

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, everybody! 
> 
> _Wow_ , it's been...over a year since I've updated, let alone posted anything. It's been a long, long minute, huh? This is also my first _ever_ in-depth Batfamily fic, tho I've been an avid, silent reader of Batfamily fanfic for a while. So I'm pretty nervous here. 
> 
> This has been a fic that's blossomed in my head for a few years now. I just couldn't quite figure out the direction and tone of this fic, but now I can. And so...here we are! 
> 
> I've been enjoying a lot of beloved Batman media (particularly the original _Batman: The Animated Series_ that I grew up with in the 90s) and also reading and re-reading a lot of beloved Batman fic. 
> 
> And I've hit some hard times in my life, and so I've been needing a lot of comfort. I find that Daddy!Bruce/Bats is a great source of it. This fic is partially a result of that.
> 
> I hope it gives you all some modicum of comfort, too. And if not, then I at least hope that it makes you laugh and smile. Hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!

It’s the closeness for Dick. 

-

Bruce is lucky in that his first child is also his most-often forthcoming with his wants, with his needs. In that, he is probably luckier than he’s ever deserved to be. 

Bruce can read the absolute, final sealing of a merger in a mile-long financial report. He can read the surest next step in an investigation just from a hair on the floor. He can read the telltale lie in the simplest twisting of lips or twitches of noses. 

But reading people outside of his work-be it daytime or nighttime? Reading _children_? No, Bruce Thomas Wayne is a man of many, many gifts, but that is not one of them. 

Bruce originally thinks the boy’s clinginess is from the fresh trauma of his parents’ deaths. And so, awkward though he is, Bruce can’t dream of denying Dick Grayson’s need for physical affection. He would sooner deny himself oxygen. 

So Bruce does his best to move about through his home as casually as he usually does with the go-ahead to Dick to follow him as he pleases. 

But Bruce doesn’t need to so obviously extend the invitation-Dick barely needs it. 

Bruce sits at the desk of his study, Dick scrambles onto his lap. Bruce lounges on the couch to read the newspaper, Dick settles atop his stomach to read his own book. Bruce stands at the kitchen counter to make them a light snack before Alfred’s luncheon, Dick is flush against his side, arms wrapped tight around his middle and face squished against his abs. Bruce examines a tall, tall display at Wayne Enterprises, Dick is perched high, high up on his hip so he can see too. Bruce walks… _anywhere_ , Dick clutches at his hand or if his hands are otherwise busy, then his shirt hem or pocket. 

And in-between, with the godsend known as Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce reassures Dick that his world was not completely torn down with his parents’ deaths. Bruce won’t let his world be torn down; he’ll help him rebuild his world even if it means he has to tear down whatever fragile world he’s built for himself in exchange. So he wipes tear after tear; rocks night after night; reads storybook after storybook. 

Healing and comforting 8-year-old Dick Grayson seems to be endless work, but it’s work 24-year-old Bruce Wayne will never give up. 

-

It’s not that long before the first time Dick asks to get in the bed with him. 

Dick is particularly quiet and tearful the day of. With nightfall comes his bedtime, wherein Bruce reads and re-reads and re-reads him _Cinderella_. The story is one of his favorites, but it still takes him an extra hour to fall asleep. 

Bruce staves off patrol for the night for worry with Dick. Sleep comes to him before his foggy head even hits the pillow. 

He lies on his side and is enjoying the rare luxury of a deep, dreamless sleep when something warm and small shakes his shoulder. Desperate to stay in the hold of unconsciousness, Bruce shrugs it off as a possible past injury starting to bother him. But the shaking comes again along with a strange, little dip on one side of the mattress-what, is his spine going this time? With a growl, he flops onto his back, one arm thrown above his head. Even if it his spine, it can wait until morn-

“B-Bruce? _Bruce_ …” 

This time, something warm and small pats his nose, tugs at his hair. 

“Please, Bruce, please…” 

Bruce’s eyes snap open…only to meet a pair of watery electric blue eyes so close to his face that he goes cross-eyed. He bolts upright, rubbing at his eyes. 

“Dick Grayson, what in the _world_ are you _doing_?” He grumbles. 

Tired and irritated though he is, Dick’s answering sniffle arrows straight into his heart. 

“I-I had another bad dream”, he tearfully explains. “Didn’t wanna be alone again.”

Bruce drags his hand down his face. By god, he’s so tired he almost wishes this was just some kind of past injury that’s come to haunt him after all. He wants to call for Alfred to come work his magic on the boy and make him go to sleep and _stay asleep why can’t he have mercy on him and stay asleep tonight because he’s usually good at sleeping at his bedtime so why_ -

But, no. Dick came to him because Dick wanted him. He needs and deserves to have the adult he chooses to tend to him no matter how inept and awkward that adult may feel. And Bruce is of course the adult Dick chose because Bruce is the one who in turn chose to take him in in the first place. 

Bruce brought him home; Bruce must care for him. 

Forcing as much softness as he can into his gravelly voice, he replies, “Okay, chum. Okay. Y’want…another story, then? A different one?” 

“…No…” 

“The same story?” 

“Nuh-uh.” 

“A glass of water?” He gives him a sideways smirk. “…We don’t have to tell Alfred if it turns into a tall glass of milk an’ cookies.” 

Dick bites his lip, looking down in thought. His little fingers worry his guardian’s bedsheets. “I…well, maybe another night. But…no, not right now.” 

…Why in the hell children aren’t born with universal instruction manuals Bruce will never know. 

“Then do you-”

Bruce’s stomach drops straight through the floor and an icy chill shoots up his spine. His eyes sharpen on Dick even as he leans away from him to turn on the bedside lamp. Soft golden light spills into the bedroom as Bruce yanks the boy into his lap and peers at him closely. 

“Are you sick, too?! Hurt?! Where at?!” Even as he speaks, his hands pass over his charge, hands patting his face, inspecting his arms. This should’ve been his first thought; self-loathing, an old and familiar friend, surges hot and heavy in his heart. 

Dick blinks in confusion. He grabs at Bruce’s large hands with his tiny ones. “ _No_ , Bruce. ‘M not sick or hurt!” 

“Are you _absolutely certain_?” He squeezes Dick’s hands. “Do a careful mental check of yourself like I showed you after you swung off the chandelier. Remember? Just in case I missed anything. Now.” 

Right on the edge of Dick’s little pouting lips is a denial of recalling any time where he swung off any chandelier. But Bruce quells it with a look that tells Dick that _yes_ , he’s still suffering a heart attack from that incident and _no_ , he’s not in the mood to hear jokes about it. 

Bruce is not even going to start on the adventure of the little slip-slide-and-swing down the banister. Not tonight. 

The little boy in his lap huffs and stares up at the ceiling as though in thought. They both know he’s mostly pretending, but Bruce will take it if it means his heart will calm down. 

“Okay!” Dick finally says. “Nothin’ wrong with me; nothin’ you didn’t find!” 

Bruce doesn’t bother to hide the long sigh of relief escaping him. He absentmindedly rubs his hand up and down the boy’s back and Dick leans into the touch. 

“Alright, kiddo. Great. So now…you don’t want any kind of story. You don’ want milk and cookies.” He pauses to yawn so big and wide his jaw cracks. “Then…what d’you want to help you get back to sleep?” 

“Because you and I both need to get back to sleep-you have school and I have work in the morning.” _And I need to rest up as much as possible for patrol tomorrow night._

Dick thumps his head against Bruce’s chest and grin up at him. “I want you, Bruce.” 

Bruce can’t help but meet that cherubic grin with a frown of confusion. “You already have…me.” A flush creeps up his neck and he glances briefly to the side as he adds truthfully, “Always.” 

The little boy thumps his head against Bruce’s chest again, this time in admonishment. “I _know_ that, silly. I mean I wanna sleep in your bed with you.” 

Bruce blinks slowly, blankly at the child nestled in his lap. The ensuing silence is so great that he's sure someone's mashed cotton over his ears. But even as he blinks down at Dick, the boy keeps his gaze open and steady and earnest. And expecting. 

It's a while before Bruce remembers that a verbal reply is called for. 

“…Why?” 

“‘Cause you asked me what’ll get me to go back to sleep an’ _you_ are what’ll get me back to sleep.” 

The flush is receding, but a new wave of exhaustion is coming. “D-Dick, ‘M not sure-” 

“Look, see?! It’s already workin…” Dick’s words trail off into a big, big yawn. “‘M already getting’ sle-”

“Dick…” Bruce drags his hand down his face yet again. “It’s not that I don’t want to help you sleep-I do. It’s just that I’ve...never shared my bed with a child before.” 

“Oh…” Dick chews on his lip. He looks more thoughtful than crestfallen; if anything he snuggles closer into his guardian’s lap. “Well…y’had to have had sleepovers when you were a kid, right? So you shared-”

“I didn’t really…do…sleepovers, Dick. Not even as a teenager.” 

“But what ‘bout Alfred? You probably hopped in the bed with him a few times when you were a kid!” 

“Yes, but I’m not Alfred.” 

“Well, you…have a whole lotta pillows in your bed here that’re about my size. And it’s okay if you squish them a little!” 

“I am not going to _squish_ you”, Bruce sternly retorts. His heart picks up at the mere thought. “Pillows are for squishing-not little human boys that need to _breathe_ and not be _broken_.” 

“You’re not gonna squish me bad, though!” Dick whines. 

“No, I am not going to squish you at all because you’re going back t-”

“But Bruce, I don’ wanna-”

“You don’t have to go back alone. I’ll even tuck you in myself an-”

“ _No-!_ ” 

“Dick.” Bruce grits out. His patience is wearing thin. “I am _trying_ to be reasonable and compromise with you. Do not make me fail.” 

Bruce moves to get up and prepares to carry him back to his room, kicking and screaming if he has to. More than anything he doesn’t want it to come to that, but-

“You’ve slept with women, too, right?!” 

Everything in Bruce comes to a grinding, screeching halt. His eyes flare so wide open as he stares at the boy that he's sure they'll pop right out of their eye sockets. And no matter how much his mouth opens and closes nothing but incomprehensible air comes out. 

Dick hurriedly beats him to it before he can recover. "And I know those women are bigger than me 'cause they're adults, but they're just as soft and squishy as I am! I've never seen a newspaper headline that, y'know, went, 'Pretty lady Found Crushed and Squished in Bruce Wayne's Bed this Morning'." 

That flush is returning with a fierce and vicious vengeance. Did he swallow magma with dinner? "Y-young man, you-"

"'M trying to be reasonable and compromise with you, too, Bruce! And now you're making _me_ fail!" 

"Richard _John_ Grayson, if you don't-"

"I mean, jus' do like you do when they go to sleep, too-like, just don't roll over me like you don' roll over them!" 

"That is not _remotely_ the same context for this situation!" Bruce barks. "This is an entirely inappropriate conversation for a child to be engaging in. Now for the _last_ time you are going back to your-"

Those electric blue eyes are looking damper and damper by the second. They draw water as though it’s straight from Bruce’s throat, which dries up like dust and so dries up his voice.

It makes Bruce switch gears immediately once he can find said voice. He pleads, "Dick, l-listen to me. I only mean for you to be a big bo-”

"You just like sleepin' with them more than me. That it's, huh?" 

"Wha-I...no! I-I never said-!"

"You also never said 'Yes, Dick. You can sleep with me', either! So what am I 'sposed to think otherwise?!" 

"You are supposed to-"

"Stay in the bed with you so I can sleep!" 

Bruce leans his head back against the pillows and lets out a long, deep sigh at the ceiling. He drags his face down his hand yet again. 

Dick’s voice sounds again, this time low and sure with intent. “If _you_ wanted to sleep in my bed, I’d let you. I wouldn’t let my all my stuffed animals squish you, Bruce. Not even my circus elephants and monkeys.”

He leans up to peer seriously at Bruce’s face. “You hear me? _Not even my circus elephants and monkeys, either_.” 

Bruce blinks down at the boy in his lap. And blinks…and blinks…and blinks. And Dick simply keeps staring up at him with that intent, even squinting and full-on pouting to show how serious he is. 

Several seconds that feel like hours pass until Bruce finally breaks first with a smile. A slow, but warm smile. 

“Well”, he starts. “I have to say that that’s a great, great sacrifice for you, Dick. Both Alfred and I know how much you love those stuffed animals. And so to know that you’d protect me from being squished by them…it means a lot. Quite a lot.” 

“It is, Bruce”, Dick confirms. He still looks deadly serious. “It’s probably an even bigger sacrifice than sharing my cereal with you.” 

Bruce nods just as seriously, though he can’t stop the smile getting bigger on his face. “Indeed. And I’d have you know that when you share your cereal with me I never take that lightly, either.” 

With that, Bruce leans back against his pillows again and lets out his deepest, longest sigh since Dick woke him up. He closes his eyes and runs his hand through his sleep-tousled hair. 

Eyes still closed and still leaning against his pillows, he asks, “…Are we actually going to _sleep_ , Dick?” 

Bruce doesn’t need to open his eyes to see the smile breaking out over the boy’s face like the morning sun over storm clouds. Hell, he even expects the sudden, excited bounce in his lap. 

“Yeah, Bruce! Yeah!” Dick exclaims. “Nothing but sleeping!” 

“And are we going to kick?” He at least knows children have a tendency to kick in their sleep. 

“Nope!” 

“Toss and turn all night?” 

“Nah!” 

“Try to steal all the covers?” 

“Nuh-uh!” 

“Try to steal all the pillows?” 

“Mmm-mm!” 

“Try to wake me up before 6am?” 

“Never ever would I ever!” 

Without another word, Bruce opens his eyes and pulls back the covers to his right. Gently, he lifts Dick off of him and right onto the newly-opened space. He places Dick right next to him-he knows better than to try to sequester him all the way to the other side of the king-sized bed. 

He can’t keep his smile off his face as he watches Dick excitedly wriggle to lie down. Next, Bruce makes short work of pulling the covers up to Dick’s chin, snugly tucking the boy in. Dick all but coos. Because Bruce can leave no detail unturned, he then tugs the pillows just so under his head so as to prevent him having a crick in his neck come morning. 

Last is simply turning off his bedside lamp. Soft, serene moonlight filters in through his drawn curtains. And with a voice even softer than the moonlight, Bruce says, “Goodnight, chum.” 

Bruce flops onto his back with a deep sigh of relief. Unconsciousness has to be coming soon- 

Dick’s little body scrambles to close the distance between them until he’s flush up against Bruce’s arm. Before Bruce can utter a word, Dick deftly lifts his arm and slides under it. He then curls the muscular limb closely around his back at the same time that he snuggles right up against his guardian’s torso. 

Bruce stays still as a statue. His mouth hangs open as he stares blankly up at his bedroom’s darkened ceiling. _Since…since when did they agree to_ this _exactly…?_

Dick continues making himself nice and comfy like his guardian isn’t as hard and motionless as marble. He tugs Bruce’s arm even closer around his back, throws an arm over his stomach, throws a _leg_ over his _thighs_ , and then plunks his head down on Bruce’s chest. 

He then wriggles up Bruce’s chest to plant a kiss with an enthusiastic _mwuah!_ on the underside of Bruce’s chin. “G’night, Bruce an’ thank you.” 

With that Dick wriggles back down to rest his head on the broad, muscular wall of Bruce’s chest…and is soon fast, fast asleep as though he never woke at all.

Bruce is still a slab of marble. His mind, as it’s wont to do even after a shock, starts to work again, coming up with a myriad of things he should do. He should…he should wake Dick back up to explain to him- _kindly_ -that sleeping in the same bed together does not necessarily mean they have to snuggle together. 

Besides don’t they hug and snuggle and cuddle together during their waking hours enough as it is? Is Bruce not unconditionally patient and consenting to being in nearly constant physical contact with Dick no matter the circumstances? 

And he can…he can deal with Dick throwing an arm over him. But a leg? _A leg?_ Why doesn’t Dick just flat out lie on top of him instead? That’d be more tolerable than throwing a damn _leg_ over _his_. 

But Bruce may have read in an article that during co-sleeping, some children tend to throw a leg over their caretaker. It is often a way of anchoring themselves to the older person, thus feeling closer and more secure. Children even do it subconsciously after they've already fallen asleep. Surely there is more research that confirms this. He makes a mental note to read up on it. 

It’s just…who in all the hell said Bruce is going anywhere tonight other than in this bed? He always lets Dick know when he’ll be staying put just as often as he lets him know when he has to leave. Bruce is honest with him on more occasions that not, right? 

He has a mind and a half to gently disentangle Dick and then carefully push the boy from him. It won’t be so far a push that Dick is on the other side of the bed-again, Bruce knows better than to try to do that. In fact, he can be…he can be just fine with Dick lying just within arm’s reach. He can do that; he can tolerate and possibly even enjoy that. Hell, the longer Bruce is taking care of Dick, the more things he finds he can first do, and then tolerate, and then actually enjoy. 

So…sure. He can do that; he can tolerate and eventually learn to enjoy his ward _just_ within arm’s reach. 

It’s the arm around Dick’s back that’ll have to do the first part of the disengaging. It’ll have to uncurl from around the boy first. And then it’ll have to work with his other arm to push the boy to where he’s lying away from Bruce. Push him to where he’s using a pillow to cushion his head instead of Bruce’s chest. 

But…that arm around Dick feels comfortable- _perfectly_ comfortable. Like one of the things his arm was always meant to do was hold Dick. Just like this. The spot where Dick rests his head on his chest feels warmer and fuller than if he just drank some of Alfred’s homemade hot cocoa during Christmas. 

His arm around Dick feels the soft rhythm of his breathing-gently up and down, up and down. Unbidden, Bruce feels his own breathing rate matching his. As Dick exhales, his little puffs of breaths are teeny little gusts of warmth Bruce can feel even through his pajama top. That thick abundance of soft black hair is mushed against his chest. 

Dick’s leg thrown atop his really isn’t…so unwelcome a weight. Dick may feel anchored to Bruce this way, so Bruce feels just as securely held down. 

And…the feel of Dick’s kiss on his chin lingers, warm and tingling with the boy’s seemingly endless well of love and affection for him. 

Bruce sighs yet again, quieter this time. He tucks the covers even closer around them both. Gives Dick a little squeeze. 

And an answering kiss atop his head. 

\- 

With the Gotham morning comes a massive heart attack for Alfred Pennyworth. 

Alfred frantically races down the hall, thinned hair tousled and robe ends flying behind him. He could collapse onto the plush cashmere carpet for his heart pounding in his throat. But sheer terror urges him onward. Terror and shame. 

How…how could he have _missed_ …? How could he have _lost_ …? 

He managed to search nearly the entirety of the ground floor before panic took over and he raced up the stairs from the kitchen. During his desperate ascent, he hoped for something to show up on right in front of him, or behind a random door. 

By god, Alfred will even take a balustrade or a chandelier. 

Upon reaching the bedroom of the person he needs, he throws it open. He only barely misses banging it against the wall in a most uncouth fashion. 

“ _Master Bruce!_ ” He wheezes. “Master Bruce, I am unable to find young Master Dick!” 

“It is an hour yet before his schooling and your work, but I always check on him before I prepare your breakfasts and lunches! He was nowhere to be found in his room, and so I checked downstairs, particularly in the kitchen and dining room to see if…if…” 

Alfred trails off at the sight of…of…

His eldest ward lying casually in bed and looking for all the world as though nothing is amiss as he holds his youngest ward, warm and snug, against his chest. 

Dick Grayson hasn’t stirred once during Alfred’s fretting. The boy stays still and undisturbed in his sleep. His hair is a bird’s nest and his round cheeks are warm and rosy. He makes such a soft, sweet picture snuggled into the warm, muscular wall of Bruce’s torso. 

Alfred is sure that rare was such a stark contrast put together so perfectly. 

And Bruce…Bruce looks for all the world like he’s had the best sleep he’s ever had in years. The usual morning circles under his eyes are not entirely gone, but are certainly lessened. His hair, too, is a bird’s nest. A rare sleepy, sleepy smile graces his face. 

At the sight, Alfred’s adrenaline seeps out of him in a rush. It’s all he can do to just lean against the door jamb. 

Bruce looks up with sleepy, apologetic eyes at the older man. His thumb brushes against Dick’s cheek as he whispers, “Sorry, Alfred. Didn’t mean t’worry you. Kiddo here had a nightmare last night. Crawled in here with me. I let ‘im stay.” 

“ _Oh_ ”, Alfred breathes. He’s not sure a deeper sigh of relief has left him since the time Bruce came home alive and in one piece from his first night as Batman. His hand comes up to rest on his chest, right above his slowly-calming heart. 

“We’re alrigh’, Alfred”, Bruce reassures him around a wide yawn. “Sorry I didn’t come an’ get you to let you know…” 

“No, no, no! It’s quite alright sir”, Alfred reassures in turn. “For you are both indeed alright.” 

Alfred comes around to Dick’s side of the bed. The youngest master still hasn’t awakened at all during the exchange. He looks at the little boy curled into Bruce’s side, warm and safe and content. Bruce has one arm around Dick while his free hand keeps gently brushing his cheek. 

Dick’s eyelids flutter as Alfred bends down to tenderly brush his mussed hair away from his face. A little smile comes to the boy’s sleeping face at the touch. 

Bruce’s eyes are on Dick and his voice stays low and soft. “He wanted to sleep with me, Alfred. He wanted me to comfort him. He wanted…me.” 

“You are whom he turns to for the majority of his care, Master Bruce. I simply help you as best I can. There is no one he wants or needs more when he is in distress.” 

“And I…Alfred, I was so scared that I could roll over an’ crush him. But I…I didn’t, Alfred. I didn’t crush him. Not at all.” 

And when Bruce looks up at Alfred from Dick’s face, it’s with eyes that are shining with unabashed hope and wonder. The kind of hope and wonder that Alfred hasn’t seen since…since long before Bruce was eight-years-old. 

Tears come to Alfred’s eyes at the sight. His hand stays in Dick’s hair. 

“Oh, of course you did not crush him. You are as incapable of harming this child as you are of turning away from him when he needs you. Despite what you may think, Master Bruce, you are ultimately kind and gentle at heart”, says Alfred. “He is safest with you.”

It’s Bruce’s turn to have tears come to his eyes. He blinks them away before they can fall.

Minutes pass in warm, companionable silence. Alfred’s hand strokes Dick’s hair and Bruce thumb strokes Dick’s cheek. 

It’s just a few more minutes when Alfred straightens up and quietly asks, “…Sir? Would you like me to take the dear lad back to his own bed for the time being?”

“He has yet another hour before he must be up for school, but it is nearly time for you to begin your own day.” 

Surprise cross Bruce’s face and he holds his ward just a tad tighter. “Oh, I…no. No thanks, Alfred. Dick is just fine right where he is for now.” 

“But…” Bruce swallows nervously. “M-maybe I should give you a heads up next time I have Dick? And knowing Dick, there _will_ be a next time…” 

“Ahh, not at all, sir. Not at all. From now on, should I not find Master Dick in his own bed, I know a new, closer place to look.” 

Bruce grins shyly and ducks his head. 

Alfred beams. 

-

Little more than a week later finds Bruce and Dick in the third floor’s massive gymnasium. 

Bruce would usually, gladly exercise in the familiar privacy of the Cave, but the day is a special, _special_ occasion: he renovated the entire gymnasium to suit and encourage Dick’s acrobatics. 

Hiding the surprise from Dick was one of the most difficult maneuvers Bruce ever managed. It took about three weeks for Bruce working with the contractors to create the perfect balance of variety and safety. The whole time, he had to instill Alfred’s help in keeping Dick out of the house during the few hours of work during the day. 

Bruce didn’t want his curious, clever little ward to catch even a hint of his surprise as workers trouped back and forth, back and forth in and out of the house with brand new equipment. It was thankfully easy for Alfred to convince Dick to go on afterschool adventures such as ice cream trips, zoo visits, and the like. 

Renovations are done before he knows it. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors are installed on the walls that are on either side of the wall hosting the ornate floor-to-ceiling windows. All over are child-sized pommel horses; parallel bars; horizontal bars; vaults; gymnastic rings; and colorful, kaleidoscopic mats with extra cushioning to prevent injury. 

Overall the huge, cavernous room is transformed from a gym tailored for a man who mostly focused on cardio and strength training to a gym tailored for a young boy who adores acrobatics with plenty of wide, open spaces in-between the new equipment. Bruce spared no expense. 

And now, standing in the gymnasium with Dick, Bruce knows all the surprise was a good idea. A very good idea. 

“Bruce, oh _my gosh!_ I love it!” Dick screams. He alternates between clapping his hands excitedly and hugging the living hell out of Bruce. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, _thank you!_ ” 

“So you really like it, Dick? Are you _sure_ …?” Bruce teases. He ruffles Dick’s hair as the boy squeezes him yet again. 

“I do, Bruce! I do, I do, I do!” Dick exclaims. 

Even standing in place next to Bruce, Dick vibrates so much energy that Bruce wonders if the very walls of the manor are going to come down from the force. Dick goes back and forth between flitting and bouncing around his gifts and running back to Bruce for another hug. 

“Can I come up here whenever I want, Bruce?! Can I? Can I?!” Dick squeals. 

“Of course you can, Dick. That goes with what I first told you: this manor is your home now and so you can go anywhere you like”, Bruce laughs. He’s nearly blushing what with how enthusiastic the boy is in his gratitude. “I bought this for you; all of this is yours. Besides…I think Alfred and I are just a _tad_ bit too big to fit this equipment ourselves.” 

“So come up here and play and practice all you like. However-”

“Yay! I wanna start with the-”

“ _However_ ”, Bruce stresses. “I still expect you to complete your homework in a timely manner, finish the chores Alfred sets for you, and come down for mealtimes.” 

The pout Dick gives is so pronounced it’s a wonder his rosy little bottom lip doesn’t fall off. He whines, “But Bruce! Can’t I have just a little bit of slack? I mean you just gave me an indoor playground! An’ I stay on top of all of those things, anyway-” 

“Then it shouldn’t be too difficult for you to continue staying on top of all of your responsibilities.” Bruce ruffles the boy’s hair. “Right?” 

Dick huffs, but wraps his arms around Bruce’s waist yet again. He thumps his head against Bruce’s abs. “…Right.” 

Bruce grins down at his still-pouting ward. He moves his hand to the back of the boy’s neck, gently cradling him. “But I do have a consolation prize for you: you and I can change into our gym clothes and have all the fun we want in this gym…right now.” 

He glances up at the clock. “And we have more than enough time to get a few hours in before Alfred has lunch ready. Whaddaya say, chum?” 

Dick is right back to vibrating with that energy like nothing happened. 

And now guardian and ward enjoy the newly renovated gym together. Dick is currently all but soaring through his brand new gymnastic rings. Meanwhile Bruce is practicing sit-ups on (at Dick’s insistence) one of the kaleidoscopic mats. He’s quiet and efficient as he switches between bicycle sit-ups and torso twisting sit-ups. 

Dick provides most of the sound in the gym. In-between his whooping and hollering, he makes double and triple sure that Bruce sees every trick he can do. 

“Bruce! Bruce! Didja see me do that tumble? Don’t know if I ever got that high before! _Didja see me?!_ ” 

“I absolutely did, Dick! And it was the most perfect tuble I’ve ever seen.”

Five minutes later: “Y’know, I just did that backflip with my eyes closed, right?!” 

“Your eyes were most certainly closed. Wish I could do that, Dick.” 

Three minutes later: “See, Bruce?! I can hold myself up with one arm for _this_ long! One day I’ll be as strong as you!” 

“No- _stronger_. Before you know it, you’ll be able to pick _me_ up with one arm.”

Ten minutes later: “Hah! That was four cartwheels in a row-!”

“Dick, for the third time: water. In your mouth. Down your throat. Now. And your tricks are amazing, but you should also do another trick called breathing.” 

And Bruce would gladly exercise down in the familiarity of the Cave and closer to the evening hours at that, but… 

He loves this. 

He loves seeing Dick so happy and carefree and excited and…everything Dick is supposed to be. 

About forty-five minutes later finds a rehydrated-Dick doing cartwheels yet again and Bruce moving onto push-ups. He’s just as quiet and efficient as before as he switches between two-armed and one-armed push-ups. 

Bruce is on his third rep when Dick suddenly slips out of his formation and runs over to him. 

“Hey, Bruce?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Y’mind if I…help you with your push-ups?” 

Bruce blinks and stops mid-push. “Well…that’s nice of you to offer. Thank you. But how would you go about that, Dick?” 

Dick giggles, runs right up next to him and…perches right in the middle of his back. Bruce feels the boy deftly fold his legs in the “criss cross applesauce” style, as his teacher calls it. Dick sits as still as he can, though he clearly thrums with renewed excitement. Even with the extra weight, Bruce keeps his body perfectly poised in the middle of his push-up. 

“ _Ohh…_ ”, he says. “This is helpful indeed, kiddo. Are you…all settled?” 

“Yep!” 

“Good.” 

And Bruce continues his reps as though there was no interruption at all. He’s as smooth and coordinated as ever even with the child on his back. Said child squeals and screams and giggles in delight as he’s brought up and down, up and down. 

“More! More!” Dick squeals. 

Bruce can’t help but grin as he obliges. Dick claps his hands in glee. 

Alfred soon comes up to remind them that his luncheon is coming up soon. He asks if they would _kindly_ bathe their sweaty, sweaty selves before coming to the table. They do. 

The rest of the day passes jovially. 

As the well-worn cloak of night falls over Gotham, Bruce still has Dick’s sheer joy and excitement on replay in his mind. Alfred reassured him earlier that the gymnasium’s security cameras’ footage of Dick’s happiness can be translated into a home video for them to enjoy for years to come. Bruce tries not to smile too hard. 

Bruce is so relaxed that he lounges in his study wearing his pajamas as he reviews some WE documents for his next meeting. He thinks he’ll take the night off patrol… _just_ to see the smile on Dick’s sleeping face. 

Just one night off patrol to see that. 

And Bruce is done reviewing a little after 10 o’clock, which is early for him. He gets up to check on Dick in his bedroom, maybe tuck him in-

Dick is nowhere to be found in his own bed. His stuffed animals-particularly his beloved elephants and tigers-lay at the foot of his bed, looking almost neglected without their owner. 

Bruce has half a mind to suffer a heart attack just as Alfred did. Instead he merely holds onto the thought on the way to his own bedroom. As he opens the door, he swears he’ll shout down all of the east coast if he doesn’t see-

“Bruce, you were almost late! Didja brush your teeth?” Dick asks from his bed. 

Instead of verbally replying, Bruce just blinks slowly. He huffs out the breath he was holding in case he needed that heart attack. 

Dick’s little button nose scrunches up. “Y’know, I kept trying to arrange your bed, but…you know what? Your bed is just too darn big and I’m so darn small!” 

“I wanted us to tuck each other in this time”, Dick explains as his little hands try and fail to pull up Bruce’s thick blankets higher up on his chest. He turns imploring eyes to Bruce. “Will you come over here an’ help me, Bruce?” 

Bruce scrubs a hand down his face. Didn’t…didn’t they spend so much- _so much_ -time together up in the gymnasium? Hell, didn’t Bruce literally let Dick sit on his back as he did his push-ups?

Didn’t he? 

Bruce doesn’t move from the door, but he manages to keep most of the confusion out of his face and voice. “…Dick, did you have another nightmare? And yes, I brushed my teeth.” 

Dick blinks owlishly. As if it should be obvious, he says, “No…I just wanna sleep with you again. But it’s gonna be hard to do that if you don’ help me!” 

“I…” 

“So will you help me? Are you comin’, Bruce?” 

Bruce can’t tell if he’s just more tired than he thought or if this child is making him softer and softer by the minute. Either way, a slow, small smile comes to his face. 

Nodding, he acquiesces, “Yes, Dick. I’m coming.” 

And Bruce does. 

He slides into the bed next to his ward. Rearranges and pulls into order the thick covers. Straightens and fluffs up the pillows. Let’s the child tuck him in. Tucks in the child beside him in turn. Turns off the light.

Dick latches onto his waist as soon as he lies down. Throws that _leg_ over him. “Night, Bruce!”

Bruce simply ruffles his hair and yawns, “G’night, kiddo.” 

-

Dick grows and heals and blossoms. 

Dick becomes Robin, his very first Robin. 

Dick brings Tony Zucco to justice. 

And Bruce is there for it. 

Though there’s…there’s a part of Bruce that grieves even as his first son heals. It is an anticipatory grief, a looming grief. It is a grief that looms over him each time Dick begs for a piggyback ride. Squeezes his chest each time Dick throws his arms around him in a tight hug. Stabs into his heart each time Dick pecks his cheek. 

Threatens to outright consume him each time Dick climbs in the bed with him. 

Because Bruce is sure…he’s _sure_ that the less and less Dick acutely misses his parents, then the less and less he’ll want to be close to him. 

Once upon a time Bruce imagines he would’ve been glad for that. Glad because traditionally he’s just not _used_ to an abundance of physical affection. The most he’s ever done is fake a casual enjoyment of it during galas when he’s “Brucie”. Hell, he rarely even laughs or smiles outside of “Brucie” (and he didn’t even _realize_ that until both Dick and Alfred pointed it out to him when a frustrating case made him glare at a plate of green beans). 

But that time has long passed and he neither remembers nor cares about when it happened. He only knows that at this point…he needs to be as close to Dick as much as Dick needs to be close to him.

Hell, he needs Dick more than Dick needs him. 

But a wretched part of Bruce’s mind reminds him that this is all about Dick- _his_ needs come second, if at all. He’s to accommodate any need for distance Dick has, just as he has accommodated any need for closeness. 

Besides…Bruce should be glad of Dick’s healing no matter how it manifests. 

So Bruce grieves quietly. Forlornly. 

And he waits. Waits for the inevitable distance. Waits for the unavoidable heartbreak.

But nothing changes; Dick keeps him waiting. 

Bruce updates case files in the Cave’s computer, Dick plops down in his lap to do most of the typing. Bruce carries home a sleepy Robin from patrol, said sleepy Robin clings to him tightly even in sleep. Bruce picks Dick up from school for a surprise afternoon out, Dick sprints to him and all but leaps into his arms. Bruce conducts a relatively safe experiment in the Cave, Dick clutches at his cape. 

The boy…the boy still doesn’t let go of Bruce for anything. 

And Bruce doesn’t let him go right back. 

He doesn’t quite know the exact time when it became easier for him to return Dick’s affection. But smoothly, casually it comes to him. A gentle rubbing of Dick’s back when they sit together in his study. A hair ruffle as they pass each other in the hall. A reach for his hand first when they cross the street. An open, offered arm when Dick so much as looks like he wants to climb up his lap. 

No…no, Bruce doesn’t let him go for anything either. 

-

That’s not to say it’s always…easy. No, Bruce staying close with Dick is not always…easy. 

Being a parent-a _new_ parent-is not always easy. 

Rarely so, in fact. 

Bruce is reminded as such during one of the many, many times when his life snowballs into a blur of responsibilities. 

He’s barely 26. It’s one of these times when the thought crosses his mind that he’s too damn young to be this damn tired. 

It first starts with Wayne Enterprises’ project to expand subsidiaries into the parts of Gotham with the lowest employment and the highest cost of living. Expansion of the student loan forgiveness program (which Bruce will _not_ see funding cut for in exchange for more donations to Gotham U) is continuing. There are 3 more daycares to add to the main WE building and it’d be nice for them to be added and opened before the end of the year. And Bruce had to personally breathe down the necks of some of his HR department for making the selected interviewees to similar to him in skin tone. 

The exact same week gave Batman yet another mass breakout in Arkham Asylum. The Joker released a new, more antidote-resistant laugh gas on an entire block in downtown Gotham. Poison Ivy unleashed one of her massive vine monsters on Gotham City Hall. Penguin held Commissioner Gordon hostage for a $20 million ransom. Mr. Freeze froze 70% of one of Gotham’s bridges, hundreds of vehicles and people included. The Ventriloquist robbed banks for all they were worth left and right. 

The next week saw Dick come down with a cold, a product of their face-off with Mr. Freeze and Bruce let the sniffling, sneezing boy in his bed the entire time. As soon as the boy got better, Alfred reminded him of an upcoming Wayne gala. Two overseas business trips could _not_ be put off any longer by Bruce and had to be taken, sans a teary-eyed Dick (knowing the boy would likely sleep in his bed while he was gone, Bruce sprayed his cologne all around his bedroom and bathroom…and came home from his last trip to indeed find Dick sound asleep on his pillow). Dick had a parent-teacher conference that would be nothing but glowing with praise, but was insisted upon by the teacher who Bruce rarely met. 

Alfred gave him the rare, rare task of picking up some 2% milk for Dick’s cereal after work. Bruce thought his butler meant to buy 2% of the dairy company that sold the milk. 

He stayed several hours after work to do just that.

Bruce was halfway through negotiating a meeting to close the deal on his office phone when Alfred blew up his cell phone demanding to know _where the godforsaken milk was for this innocent child of his that just needed some cereal in the morning, Master Bruce_. 

Bruce assured Alfred that he was almost done with setting up the deal (Alfred thought he meant learning the usage of a coupon and shed a prideful tear-his Bruce Thomas _Wayne_ using a _coupon_ ). And he would be home soon. 

And upon coming home just an hour before time for patrol, Dick ran to him looking for a hug…and a grocery bag with a carton of milk. When he and Alfred saw that the hug was present but the milk was absent, Dick pouted something fierce and Bruce swore he watched in real time as yet another strand of Alfred’s hair turned gray. 

The next week slowed down some of the lingering mess of the mass Arkham breakout. Bruce still had yet another business trip that he absolutely couldn’t hold off, but was thankfully within the country this time. Wayne Enterprises was poised to hold another gala lest “Brucie” start to look less than the airhead social butterfly he was. Dick was due for his biannual check-up at the pediatrician’s and when Dick looked like he wanted to swing up on one of the overhead lights Bruce had to give him one (1) look. Batman successfully foiled Killer Croc’s plot to kidnap and devour dozens of homeless Gotham citizens, but not without Bruce Wayne coming home with 3-inch deep, claw-shaped gouges in his left lower back and smelling of goddamned sewage from head to toe. 

Bruce takes the first half of the next week off from both Batman and “Brucie”, lest he lose his mind. 

It’s sheer force of will that keeps him from collapsing once out the shower. 

He’s too damn young to be this damn tired, isn’t he? 

Isn’t he? 

He hasn’t even _shaved_.

Bruce’s back is on its way to healing. So there’s neither too much moaning and groaning nor too much minding of bandages that he has to worry about. Pulling back his covers and sliding on his mattress…dear god, he never thought he’d be able to. 

Just as the mattress is dipping with his weight, Dick shows up in his doorway. Bruce says not a damn thing as Dick comes into the room and scrambles up into the bed with him. Dick doesn’t say anything, either; he stopped openly asking Bruce and now simply hops in whenever he pleases. 

Bruce sprawls out on his stomach in a big, loose puddle of muscle. His beard growth scrapes against the silk pillowcases. There’s only a slight twinge in his left lower back as he adjusts his arms under his pillows. It’s a miracle he has the energy to turn his face so he can breathe through his nose. 

His face is turned away from the child beside him, who’s snuggling as close as he can without aggravating the gouges in his back. 

Bruce yawns, already slipping. “…Hit the ligh’, would you, kiddo?” 

“Uh-huh!” says Dick. “Nighty-night, Bruce.” 

“Hrn…” 

Bruce hears the light click off and he slips even further. 

He feels Dick predictably rest his head on his upper back and throw his arm over his middle back. Dick kindly doesn’t throw that leg over him tonight, minding the bandages on his lower back. The absence of the leg is so strange as to be nearly uncomfortable for Bruce-Dick throws a leg over him _every_ time he’s in the bed. But Bruce will finish healing soon enough. 

Bruce is more than three-fourths of the way to the sweet, sweet reprieve of REM sleep. The warm, slight weight of Dick on his back is perfect. His bed is warm and comfortable; his alarm is not set. Every single part of his body is far too heavy to move and there’s no need to do so anyway. His morning will be the afternoon. All is still and quie-

“B-Bruce…?” Dick’s voice is sudden, but small and soft in the darkness. 

_Dear god, don’t you have an upset stomach…I will buy you a whole gallon of ice cream just for you…I will buy you an entire block of Central City and turn it into your personal, exclusive playground…I will buy you Lexcorp and let you play CEO for a week…just please not tonight…_ “…Hrmmph?”

Dick’s little hands bunch in the back of his black tank top. “C-can you please roll over an’ hold me?” 

“…Hrnn…?” Maybe…maybe he heard wrong. 

He most certainly must’ve heard wrong. 

A little huff of impatience blows across Bruce’s back. Dick lifts his head and gives his shoulder a little shake. “I want you to roll over and hold me, Bruce! Please?!”

This…

This _child_ …

This child of _his_ …

Roll over? Roll over and hold him? Roll over and hold him with what energy? With whose energy? It’s all he could do to turn his face just so he could breathe. He can’t even move his sorry legs. If his head slips even a centimeter from the pillows, he’ll just have to deal with a monster crick in his neck in the morning. 

He’s dealt with a mass Arkham breakout for nearly three weeks; flown in and out of Gotham on business trips; smiled until he swore his face would crack as “Brucie”; had to take 4.5 showers to get the smell of sewage out of his skin and hair; and had to draw himself a well-detailed picture in case Alfred ever sent him out to buy 2% milk again. 

And Dick. Wants him. To roll over. And hold him. 

Bruce almost wonders how to telepathically communicate to Alfred to get him to come in here so _he_ can roll over and hold Dick. 

That little shake on his shoulder again. “Bruce? Didja hear me? Are ya coming…?” 

Bruce takes in a deep, deep, _deep_ breath. His back shudders with it, making that slight twinge in his wounds reappear. He summons energy from…somewhere…to produce sound that resembles coherent…language. 

Yes, language. What primary language does he speak again? It should match with the primary one Dick speaks, right…? 

English. Bruce thinks it just might be English. So he tries that. 

“…Yes, Dick. I’m coming.” 

That must’ve been the right choice, since Dick says, “Yay!” 

And even with his excitement, Dick stays mercifully patient as his father moves. Bruce is on autopilot as he slowly-so, so _slowly_ -rolls from lying sprawled on his stomach to lying on his side, facing Dick. 

As soon as Bruce is in position, the boy mercifully does the rest of the work for him by immediately launching himself between his arms. Dick’s arm comes around his waist and squeezes tight, tight, _tight_. All Bruce has to do is drape an arm over the boy’s warm little body in turn. He rubs his back clumsily. 

And that leg, no longer in danger of aggravating his back in this position, comes up to latch itself around his hip. The normalcy plunges Bruce even faster into deep, deep sleep. 

Dick snuggles right up against his chest and plants a hearty kiss on his stubbly chin. “Thanks, Bruce. G’night, now.” 

“Hrrh…” 

-

Gotham’s afternoon is bright and full of sun the following day. 

The vibrant sunlight peaks through the heavy, closed curtains of Bruce’s bedroom. Said man is slowly, surely coming out of the deep throes of much-needed sleep. His snores are light and soft enough not to disturb the child still nestled, warm and close, in his arms. 

Several minutes pass wherein Bruce comes closer and closer to consciousness. The first thing he hears is: “…Hey, Bruce…?” 

“…Hrm?” 

There’s a shifting, a wriggling in his arms. “We got a lotta hours of daylight. So y’wanna go out to eat an’ play catch at the park later? I promise not to try to climb the swings again…but only if you promise to swing with me again this time. An’ I’ll try to push you, too! Jus’ like last time!” 

A slow, sweet grin comes to Bruce’s face. He hasn’t even opened his eyes yet. 

“Bruce, are you coming?” Dick implores. More of that wriggling. 

Bruce slowly, slowly opens his eyes…and is met with that pair of electric blue ones right up against his face. 

Those excited, exuberant electric blue eyes. With that sunny, shiny smile. 

Bruce’s hand lifts from around Dick’s little body to brush over his bird’s nest hair and slide down to cup his face. Soft and tender, he brushes his thumb against his cheekbone. Dick beams at the touch. 

“Yes, Dick. I’m coming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll notice I always call Alfred's lunches "luncheons" 'cause Alfred freakin' Pennyworth don't make no simple lunches. Naw, he makes straight up _luncheons_. I am convinced the man can make a simple affair of PB&J sandwiches and apple juice fancy-dancy as hell. Haha. 
> 
> And I done kept the 2% milk joke in there against my better judgement. I ain't care-I laughed for days. 
> 
> Lemme know what you think please and thank you!


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